The Black Sun Rising
by Elah
Summary: For Brian, as the cool evening turned into a cold night, everything went wrong. His own feet betrayed him. In between one blink and another, he found himself transported into a place in which he would not have wanted to spend one hour of his time.


_For Brian this cool evening began very well, but as the evening turned into a cold night everything went wrong. As he was trying to reach his car his own feet betrayed him. In between one blink and another, he found himself transported into a place in which he would not have wanted to spend one hour of his time. But he was stuck, and there, with him, was the Pittsburgh's impersonation of the villain from Texas Chain Saw Massacre…  
_

"You could stay for the night, Brian."

"Thanks, but I'd rather go home. Bye"

Brian stood on the porch half blind after the lights inside the house. The light streamed around him to the ground in front of him. What had been water when Brian had entered the house a few hours earlier was ice now, and the play of light on the little ice-covered pools was dazzling. He was relieved when the door was shut, and he was left in the relative darkness of a Pittsburgh night. Carefully, he stepped onto the partially ice-coated path and navigated his way to the street. Once there, he started towards his car that he had seen no alternative but to leave almost two blocks away.

Brian looked at the houses that lined the street. Warm, yellow light was flowing out into the night from many of the windows that, for once, allowed an outsider a peek inside. There was not much to see, though. Down as he was, on the street level, he saw chandeliers and such, tops of book shelves littered with vases and odd pieces of decorative items and gently lit decorations adorning the upper branches of Christmas trees. In one of the houses, a child was sitting on a window sill; the little figure waved at Brian who waved back. Brian wondered what a child was doing sitting there at such a late time of the night.

From behind Brian, a chilling gust blew along the street and made him turn up the collar of his coat and stick his hands deeper into the pockets. He sped up his steps.

Brian crossed the street between the blocks, and soon he saw his car promising warmth and comfort under a street lamp just about thirty feet away. A little, satisfied smile brought a twinkle into his eyes as he felt around in a pocket for the familiar shape of his car key.

The next step Brian took did not end like the others had; his heel did not stop. It slid further and further forward on a suddenly slippery ground. He tried to restore his balance by throwing his weight forward, but it was too late. As he went down, he had just enough time to think that it was good that the street was deserted and nobody saw his undignified dive towards the pavement.

Brian went down with an ugly cracking sound he had heard before, as a kid, a sound he had hoped never to hear again.

"Shit!"

Brian's curse was a hiss more than a word. It escaped from him almost before his conscious thoughts understood what it was he had heard: the sound of his bone breaking. He knew that the pain would not be far behind. He had to get to his car before he was in too bad a shape. It was too fucking cold to lie on the ground waiting for help.

What bone and how bad a break?

Brian tried to move his right hand and found no problems with it. When he had checked the left one with negative results, too, Brian pushed himself on his side, and screamed as pain shot through his leg. From his new position Brian saw his throbbing leg. The shin of his left leg seemed to have an extra joint between the ankle and the knee. That was bad. Very bad.

There was no way Brian could get inside of his car and into its warmth.

The only positive thing about his situation was that he had his cell phone with him. If only, in his dive, he had not broken that, too. He sent a brief prayer to the man upstairs and tried to get his hand to the pocket in which the phone was. Of course it was the pocket that now was underneath him.

Brian got the phone out of his pocket, and he could call for help. After that he could do nothing but wait. He felt the icy cold seeping from the frozen ground through his clothes into his quickly cooling body. How long would it take for the ambulance to get there?

Brian wanted to think about something other than his terribly aching leg and the cold that made him feel doubly miserable. He pushed a number on his phone. He could prattle with Michael to kill the time. He waited for an answer.

In the Bruckner-Novotny household Christmas Eve was not a silent one. Hunter and Michael were running around the kitchen table, Hunter in the lead and Michael in hot pursuit.

"Give it back!" Michael screamed lunging around the corner of the table.

"Come and get it, if you can." The taunting Hunter escaped Michael's grasping hands easily by moving around a corner himself. "Your wittle paper star! Such a precious thing! I want to know what is written on it; your pre-school sweetheart must've given it to you. Such dreamy eyes that you got when you saw this." The impish teen waved the red star that had golden glitter around its edge.

"Don't rip it!" Michael's voice climbed easily an octave. "Brian gave it to me once when he came to our house on Christmas Eve, to help us decorate our tree. It was all he could afford then."

"Oooh! Brian! Brian has touched this! Oooh! Precious, precious." Hunter pressed the star against his heart with enough drama for Emmett and rushed around yet another corner.

Ben laughed and tried to get out of harm's way as the horseplay of his two rascals continued to disturb his last minute cooking.

Nobody heard the phone that was ringing, forgotten on the living room couch.

Michael did not answer his cell. Brian sighed. Was he now paying for the innumerable times when he had not had time or willingness to talk with his friend?

His cold hands made it hard to push the buttons on the phone, but Brian managed to call Ted. There was something he could talk about with his employee, even on Christmas Eve, right?

Ted was home, alone, listening to his favorite opera. He sprawled on his couch, eyes closed, head-phones covering his ears, tapping the rhythm with his sock clad foot. His partner, Blake, was visiting his parents and would not be back until New Year's Eve. The partners had talked earlier on the phone. Everything seemed to be fine with Blake's family. Blake had been worried about his mother, who had been having strange aches. But, apparently, the doctors had the situation under control. Ted was tired; it had been an exhausting fall for everyone at Kinnetik, and the person most in need of relaxation was his boss. He hoped that Brian had found a way to relax, too. He just was afraid that he knew, all too well, what way to relax Brian had found.

The phone in front of Ted, on the table, rang, unnoticed.

Well, what was there to talk about with Theodore, anyway, Brian thought? It was increasingly uncomfortable to lie on the cold pavement. Brian had a reason to doubt whether he could push the tiny buttons of his cell any longer, but he got lucky and was able to call Emmett. How embarrassing. Brian Kinney calling Emmett Honeycutt on Christmas Eve: speak about pathetic. He would never live down that one. But, then, with Emmett he would not need to find anything to say. The queen was never silent for two minutes in a row.

Christmas songs were blaring out from Emmett's audio system. The sound was loud because Emmett wanted to listen to his favorite songs while he was in his bathtub soaking away the pain in his neck and shoulders. The preceding month had been busy for the party planner, Emmett, and the most gruelling had been the last week before Christmas. He had baked and cooked for tens of parties, he had made decorations for hundreds of parties, and he had decked out thousands of party rooms. At least that is what his bones felt like at the moment. Most of the time Emmett could not appreciate Brian Kinney's minimalist taste, so different from his own, but that week he really had wished that more of his clients would have shared Brian's attitudes. The Christmas party Kinnetik had thrown had been the easiest money Emmett had made during that Christmas season. But Brian was an exception, and Emmett was exhausted. The only thing Emmett wanted besides his relaxing bath was that his beloved would come home; Drew was on his way from a match in Dallas.

The ringing in Emmett's coat pocket died away without anyone taking notice.

Brian stared at his phone. Not one of his friends took his call. He sure was a popular guy, wasn't he? Who was there to call now? Debbie? Earlier that day, Debbie had told him that she would put together the last few dishes for the Christmas dinner while Carl would decorate the house and the garden. Then they would go to bed as soon as possible. No, Brian could not call Debbie at this hour. He had talked with Lindsay earlier, too, and had had a heartwarming talk with his six-year-old son. Gus had fallen in love - with ice hockey. Those cwazy Canadians; even in his current miserable state Brian had to smile. But, no calling to Lindsay either.

There was only one person on his speed dial who he could still call, Justin. Why he still had Justin Taylor on speed dial, after almost 20 months? He did not want to think about the reasons behind that fact. He had not called the blond for several months, and the young artist had not called him either. He had thought about calling, several times, but always something more important had captured his attention. Now he certainly had nothing more important to do. So, why not? Brian tried to get his stiff and numb fingers to obey his will. After a brief but frustrating struggle he heard the alarm.

"Brian?" The familiar voice brought a little smile on Brian's bluish lips. A fond memory.

"Merry Christmas, Justin," Brian got out without too much clatter of teeth.

"Why, Merry Christmas to you, too. How have you been?" Justin sounded somewhat surprised.

"Fine, thanks. And you?" Brian did not want to talk much. It was not easy to keep the clatter at bay.

"Fine. Just fine. And Kinnetik? Everything is okay, right? I think I heard from someone that you were nominated for another award, am I right?"

"Yeah, we'll see how that'll turn out. There are some good campaigns besides ours. How's your work?" That did not come out too clearly.

"I'll have works in three shows in New York this spring and in one in Buffalo." Justin sounded enthusiastic about the upcoming exhibitions. Brian smiled; the boy had always embraced life through his art. "I'll send you the times and the places, in case you happen to be in town."

"You do that." Brian had seen a couple of Justin's shows. His cock had made an appearance in the last one he had seen. "Are you still painting my cock?" Brian tried to chuckle, but the sound that came out was more like a clatterish cackle.

"You sound strange, Brian." Justin sounded uncertain. "Anyway, why would I paint your cock? I haven't even seen your cock in ages." The boy giggled. "I could not possibly remember what it looks like, after such a long, long time."

"As if, blond boy. How could you ever forget?" Brian cackled some more.

"You really sound strange. Do you have the flu or something?" There was concern in Justin's voice now.

"Or something. Don't worry, it's nothing. But I have to go now, something came up," Brian chattered quickly as he heard the alarm signal of the ambulance.

"Oh, really. And I'm rolling my eyes here, in case you didn't know," Justin laughed.

"Take care, twat." Brian got that out almost like he was not dying of cold.

"You too, asshole. Later."

"Later, yeah."

The ambulance pulled up near Brian's car, and two dark figures exited the vehicle. Soon the figures reached Brian and started their work on him. After a little while, Brian was in the ambulance and on his way to the hospital. Brian was dizzy from pain and cold, and by the time he was rolled into the emergency room he was barely conscious.

The next thing he knew for sure was a dim light somewhere to his left. Wherever he was, the place was very silent. He had a soft, warm feeling inside of him. He wanted nothing.

Brian fell asleep again.

The next time Brian woke up there was no dim light or silence. On the contrary, a bright ray of light tickled Brian's eyelids and made him turn his face towards the shadow. From that side of him he heard laughter and speech. Brian opened his eyes.

A hospital room, Brian immediately knew where he was. A group of people surrounded the bed between him and the wall. Brian wanted to ask the group to shut up, but he was too tired to use his voice. He turned back to the light, to the window, and understood that there were just the two beds in the room. Thank God.

The noisy bunch left soon after Brian woke up, and the precious silence returned. Brian lay still. He remembered what had happened, and he knew what had to be beneath his blanket. He also knew that to try to move would invite pain. Brian hated pain.

A nurse checked on Brian soon after the guests of the other patient had left, and soon after her visit Brian got a full description of his injury and its treatment from his doctor. He also got the pain medication he needed. The only thing that made the doctor concerned was that Brian did not name anyone they should contact about his injury. Brian was adamant. It was the holiday season, and Kinnetik was closed; nobody needed to know his whereabouts. Brian just wanted to rest and to get better, quickly.

One phone call Brian had to make, though; he had to cancel on Debbie's Christmas dinner. Debbie did not take it well. Still, Brian did not tell her his real reason. The nurse took the phone away, and Brian could shut his smarting eyes. Debbie's unbridled hostility hurt him deeply. Why could Debbie never trust him, trust that his reasons for his actions were not selfish? Brian did not want anybody to worry about him during their well deserved holidays.

The next time Brian opened his eyes was when he was offered something to eat. The nurse lifted the head of the bed so that he was able to eat, and left. Brian grimaced at the not too delicious looking offering. Debbie's food would have been much more palatable.

"Brian Kinney?"

A sudden questioning voice made Brian turn his eyes towards his fellow patient. A black haired man looked at him from the other bed. A nice face, in a nondescript way. The man seemed to be about Brian's age.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I know I should know you, but I can't place you right now…"

"Undoubtedly not." The man smiled widely. "A man like you wouldn't look at a man like me twice. I've seen you at Babylon, many times. A man like me looks at a man like you whenever possible." The smile turned into laughter. "I'm Sunny Bryson. Sorry to meet you here."

"Yes, sorry to meet you too, here. Sunny?" Brian tried to hide his not so polite smile.

"Yes, Sunny. Don't laugh at my name, man. It's not my fault." Despite his words, Sunny was still smiling as widely as before. "I had nothing to do with the fact that right at the moment I came into this world the clouds drew back and let the sun shine on me."

"And your parents decided to name their sonny boy Sunny. I doubt that you had that black hair back then, though." Brian did not even try to hide his smirk any longer. "Your appearance is not very sunny, you know."

"I'm afraid you're right. Nothing bright about this ugly head." The man twisted his face into a sad expression. "My sis claims that I'm the least bright sunny boy in the Pitts."

"That's better than what my sister claims about me, man." Brian flashed a crooked smile.

"I hope you don't mind me talking. I've been alone in this room for two days, and the silence has been driving me crazy. If I begin to get on your nerves just tell me to shut up," Sunny grinned suddenly blushing. "It's a bit overwhelming, to find myself with you like this. This doesn't feel real."

"The throbbing in my leg tells me that this is all very real." Brian crunched the words on their way out.

"Your leg?" Sunny asked sounding surprisingly surprised, and went on: "What ails your leg? I broke mine."

"Likewise. What is your story?"

"Don't ask. It's too embarrassing." Sunny blushed again.

"More embarrassing than a slip because of a puddle coated with ice?" Why he was telling this Sunny anything, Brian wondered.

"A slip? That must have been some slip to land you in here. But, yes, more embarrassing than a slip. I will never tell."

"I told you about my slip, don't chicken on me now, Sunny boy," Brian said with a sing song voice.

"Look, who you calling chicken, man," Sunny growled deep in his throat, but his eyes betrayed him. "I kick chickens, Kinney, for breakfast."

"That doesn't make any sense, Sunny, but I'm very scared of you, you mean chicken kicker."

"I'm afraid I am one. At least I tried, but the chicken won." Sunny looked at Brian with big sad eyes, begging for sympathy. Brian wasn't sympathetic, though.

"Is that how you ended up with a broken leg? You tried to kick chickens?" Despite the incriminating words Brian found it hard to believe that his fellow patient was a mad chicken killer.

"It was just one chicken, and I did not kill it. It was already dead!" Sunny's puppy eyes were really sad and lonely. "It was also in deep freeze. I was at my sister's, and she woke up earlier than me. Before she left for work she took a chicken out of her fridge and left it on the kitchen table to defrost during the day. I slept until I heard a crash. I rushed up and ran to the kitchen without a look at my feet. I kicked the chicken that had fallen from the table and slid on the water-sluiced and slippery floor, and after executing some exceptional moves fell on top of that fucking chicken. The chicken didn't suffer; my leg did. My leg was weaker than a chicken."

"Poor boy," Brian laughed.

"Brian! How are you? I've worried myself sick since morning when Vernon came to my house and told me that you had been taken away in an ambulance! You should have called me." The sound of a new voice in the room made Brian turn to the door.

"Marny! I'm sorry that you've been worried. As you see, I'm in good hands, and my doctor says I'll be as bad as new in no time. I didn't want you to worry about me. I didn't think you would find out; there was nobody there to see." Brian smiled at the little elderly woman who was hurrying towards him.

"That's where you're wrong. My old friend Vernon- You remember Vernon?" Marny asked with a rise of one eyebrow. She waited for Brian to nod a 'yes' before continuing, "Vernon lives in the house beside which you had your accident. He heard the ambulance stop nearby and went to a window to see what was happening. You were lying in the pool of light from the street light above you so he knew it was you. What happened to you, Brian?"

"Nothing serious; it was just a slip on ice. I injured my leg, but, according to my doctor, it'll heal completely." Brian tried to belittle his injuries.

"It was serious enough that you are still here. Did you break it? You must have. Otherwise you would be home by now. Unless you had a concussion, too." Marny took Brian's hand and stroked it gently.

"Marny, you're too smart. I can't hide anything from you. Yes, I broke it. But, as I said, it will be okay, so don't worry about it." Brian smiled at his visitor.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Marny moved a lock of hair that tried to slip onto Brian's eye.

"No, I've got enough painkillers in me to numb an elephant," Brian reassured her, then went on with a gleam in his eyes. "There are no pains I wouldn't suffer to get back to you, my love."

Brian winced as Marny suddenly twisted the lock around her finger and tugged it sharply. "Don't you get smart with me, young man. But I can see that you are as bad as ever, so you can't be feeling too bad. But still, you could have called. Should have." Marny tugged his hair once more, more gently, and smiled. Then she took a look around her and noticed the man in the other bed. "Sunny! What has happened to you now? Don't tell me that you were shot again. I don't think it's been more than two months since the last time you were shot." And Brian's visitor was hurrying towards his roommate as anxious as before.

"No, Aunt Marny, I was not shot. I just broke my leg. And it's healing well, and I'll be up and about in no time, just like Brian," Sunny said hurriedly.

"What did you do? Jumped from a window to catch your prey? You'll never learn your limits, boyo." Marny shook her head.

"No, Aunt Marny," Sunny whined. "I slipped, too, just like Brian."

"Don't listen to him, Marny. It was nothing like my slipping. I didn't kick a chicken when I slipped."

The recounting of Sunny's encounter with the chicken dispelled Marny's last worries. Sunny thanked Brian with a smile.

"So, Sunny is the other nephew of yours, Marny?" Brian asked when the mirth had settled.

"Yes, the one I still have. The son of my other brother," Marny said softly looking at Sunny.

"The one you have been worried about so often." Brian did not ask.

"The very same. You see how prone to accidents he is." Marny smiled at her nephew.

"How do you two know each other? Aunt Marny, I've never heard you mentioning Brian." Sunny was befuddled.

"I've talked about my Christmas visitor, but I guess his name never came up." Marny's words brought the expression of dawning understanding on Sunny's face.

"The man who on the blackest of all of our family's Christmas Eves came to tell you about Peter, and who has ever since visited you every Christmas Eve? That's Brian Kinney?" Sunny looked at Brian with a wet looking shine in his eyes. "Good Heavens, Brian! Thank you so much for being there for my aunt. Why didn't you tell me who it was, Aunt Marny? Why did I never ask?"

"I didn't tell you because Brian asked me not to. And you did ask, but it wasn't too difficult to distract you from that question. Peter's death was such a painful experience for us both." Marny patted the hand of her distraught nephew.

"So you of all people were my cousin's closest friend during his last fall." Shadows seemed to veil Sunny's eyes as he remembered his cousin who had died more than fifteen years ago.

"Our first fall in college…" Brian could not think of anything to say.

"I saw Peter just once during that fall, on Thanksgiving, when he came home to Aunt Marny's," Sunny told Brian. "We, Peter and I, had just a little time to talk alone that weekend, but I remember that he mentioned that he had made friends with a guy from my team." Sunny got a funny expression about his eyes, not really a smile but something akin. "Brian, Peter's last words to me were about you! Just before somebody pulled him away from my company, he said that he must introduce me to his friend, that I'd cream my pants! Oh, boy, was he right about that!" Then he remembered that his aunt was there, too, and blushed deeply. "Sorry, Aunt Marny," he mumbled, but Marny just laughed at him fondly.

"Peter still is the best straight friend I've had," Brian told them. "My life might have been very different if he hadn't died."

As the three of them talked, Brian ate his meal never noticing the fact until the nurse came back, and Brian found on his tray only empty dishes. The visitation hour ended, and Marny left after getting both patients' promise to visit her as soon as they were capable.

"Brian, were you coming from my aunt's when you slipped?" Sunny wanted to know.

"Yes, we had had our Christmas meal," Brian admitted the fact. "Your aunt is an excellent cook. I ate way too much. I bet that's why I slipped; such an increase in weight takes time to get used to. Not that I intend to get used to it."

The light prattle went on until Brian slipped into sleep again; he was still tired from his recent ordeals.

The two men discussed a lot after their initial conversation. Brian did not mind Sunny's chatter; the talkative man was good company for a hospital visit. It could have been worse. Sunny's chatter wasn't like, say Emmett's. He wasn't gossiping, and he seemed to have a never ending reservoir of self mocking jokes. He never mocked other people, just himself. Brian found that refreshing. With Sunny he had no need to continuously defend himself against biting mockery, like he did with his friends.

Something nagged at Brian about his roommate.

"Your aunt mentioned that you have been shot, more than once. What do you do for a living, Sunny?"

"Sunny doesn't work; Bryson is the moneymaker in my household." The twinkle in Sunny's eyes gave justification for his name.

"Your husband?"

"No husband, no partner, not even a boyfriend for poor Sunny. Who would want an ugly monster like old Sunny? No, I wouldn't survive a day at my job as Sunny. I'm known as Bryson, Mr. Bryson if you're nasty."

"Sounds dangerous, Mr. Bryson." Brian laughed at Sunny's not so good imitation.

"So you admit to being nasty, Kinney?" Sunny glared mockingly at Brian.

"That seems to be the consensus about me," Brian said in dry tones.

"Definitely. A nasty attitude in a beautiful package. Is it true?" Sunny's straightforwardness surprised Brian. He had never before been offered a chance to defend himself against that accusation.

"No, I'm not a nasty person," Brian said self-consciously. "But if I'm being threatened I use nasty methods to defend myself."

"What threatens you? If you just defend yourself by your harshness, why have you been labeled as an asshole?" Brian liked this guy; he did not hide his thoughts behind pretty words.

What could it hurt if Brian let this man know what made him behave like he did? Nobody else had asked, ever. Not even Michael ever asked him about that. Michael was content in his belief that he knew his friend through and through. People just drew their conclusions about Brian, never bothering to ask. Brian was tired of being misunderstood. Why should he not take this unique chance?

"Asshole, yeah. My middle name." Brian glanced away. "I'm blessed with beauty, but I'm also cursed by it. From a very young age I was always wanted. Men and boys, women and girls; everybody seemed to notice me, to want something from me, to possess me. But I soon learned that they didn't want the boy, they wanted just the package. A pretty face to show off to the world, a rare possession. I didn't want to be used like that." Brian stopped to swallow. "I decided that never again would I be used like that. Ever since, I've used my looks to get what I want and used harsh words to get rid of the people who just wanted my looks."

"And your success in your line of work just made it worse, right?" Sunny guessed. "Now you have not only your looks but also your wealth to attract people who just want to use you as a means to an end." Sunny was silent for a little while, pondering Brian's dilemma. "I never understood that good looks could be a pain in the ass just like bad looks can."

"Tell me what kind of a pain bad looks can be. I have wanted to look somewhat like you; rarely, I admit, but it has happened. And you're not an ugly monster. You're not a beauty, but you have an easy-to-look-at, open face that reveals your brightness of spirit and your brightness of mind."

"Brian, thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone has said about my looks, ever." Sunny was clearly moved by Brian's words. "What kind of a pain…? You said that people always notice you. Well, they don't notice me. Think about your own words when you first saw me here. 'Sorry, I can't place you.' You have seen me during the last fifteen years innumerable times in different places around Liberty Avenue, but you don't remember my face well enough to know where it was we met before. I don't blame you. I tell this just because it's the story of my life; nothing in my face sticks to mind. I'm easy to forget, easy to pass by unnoticed. In a way, I'm invisible. I'm invisible also in the sex market. During a night at Babylon, I'm the man who watches his friends, strangers and acquaintances take to the dance floor and to the back room, while I stand there alone nursing a beer. Invisible."

"Uh, I'm sorry, Sunny." Brian wished he had not asked. He was one of those people that did not see Sunny. He really was an asshole.

"Don't be. As you said about your looks, also mine are both a curse and a blessing. My invisibility is essential for my work."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a private investigator. Don't say it!" Sunny grinned. "I'm no James Bond. No fancy cars, no sexy babes, no tropical island resorts with mad criminals wanting to rule or to destroy the world. Nothing like that for poor old Sunny."

Brian laughed at Sunny's exaggerated indignation. "Right, you just walk around following cheating husbands and wives. I bet you even drive a beige Toyota."

"Not in this life, asshole! I'll have you know that my beige car is a Jeep," Sunny declared. "And I do walk around following people. Am I pathetic now?"

"Yes, very pathetic." Brian grinned tongue in cheek. "Where do you follow these cheating husbands and wives of yours? If they don't take trips to tropical island resorts, I mean."

"Actually, they are not cheating husbands and wives, they are industrial spies. I've followed them to every country on the globe. Spies are everywhere! We're safe nowhere. Once in Hong Kong-"

Sunny's adventures around the industrialized and the not so industrialized world filled the hours of another long day of Brian's forced bed rest.

The men prattled, talked and discussed through their stay at the hospital. When Sunny was discharged - a couple of days earlier than Brian - the two had established a tentative start of a friendship, and both parties wanted to see where it would take them.

"Let a man have a little privacy, Kinney! I'm not going to give you a show here." Sunny had been given his own clothes to get into, and he was having trouble putting them on. That Brian was watching made him feel uglier than ever, and the awkwardness he felt did not help. "Not even if, after your long abstinence, you are desperate enough to appreciate even my skinny ass."

"Don't be shy, Sunny. From what I've seen so far your body might be your best asset. And, by the way, I've always been more attracted to a sexy body than to a pretty face," Brian said brazenly.

"Is that why the only boyfriend you ever have had has such a pretty face?"

"Oh, he's trying to silence me with alluding to my lost youth. For your information, it was not Justin's face that attracted me. I've fucked a multitude of men more beautiful than Justin, and I didn't want to see a rerun of one of the shows." Brian leered at the half-dressed man.

"What did you find attractive about him? I never understood your infatuation with such a young boy. You could have had anyone. Sorry, if I offend you, but I just can't understand."

"Neither can I, in retrospect. Why did I take him to my loft that first time? That's a mystery to me. I remember seeing him on the street in front of Babylon, a complete opposite to the guys that I usually find attractive. I have no idea why I went to him, but I did. From his first words I knew he was a virgin, and, at any other night, that would have doused my flame in a heartbeat. For whatever reason, I took him to the loft and fucked him. It was fun, as long as it lasted, and in the morning it was over. Or so I thought. The persistent little twink kept coming back for more, and I have no idea why I gave him that. Justin squeezed his way into my life, inch by inch, and before I noticed he was a part of it."

"So it was not 'love at first sight' after all. I'm so disappointed. You just spoiled the greatest love story Liberty Avenue has ever seen." Sunny, who had managed to get his leg with the cast inside of one pant leg and was struggling with the other, grinned mockingly.

"Fuck your 'love at first sight'! Definitely not. Justin might have 'fallen in lust at first fuck'; to me it was just one fuckfest among innumerable others." Brian denied the most adored rumor of the gossip mongers of Liberty Avenue.

"But you fell for him in the end?" With a triumphant smile over his shoulder at Brian, Sunny very quickly pulled his pants over his ass. "You were with him for a long time."

"For more than four years I was more or less involved with him, yes, but did I fall for him? I know next to nothing about love. People who say that they are in love usually claim to be extremely happy," Brian said thinking about Michael and Lindsay. "I never felt like that with Justin. I doubt it 

was love, really, but there was something. Maybe just that it was better with him than it was without him. At the end I found it difficult to imagine living without him, but, when he finally left for good, it took far less time to recover than I had thought."

"From outside, it seemed that you did recover very quickly. You've shown no outward signs of missing Justin. But you've changed your ways from what they were before him."

"That change has very little to do with Justin, in fact. At my age, it would be pathetic to keep to the ways of a decade younger man. I'm not stupid enough to continue like that long enough to let people think of me as a ridiculous old geezer." Brian made a wry face.

"There have been no new names attached to yours, though. Some people see that as a proof of your persistent feelings for Justin." Sunny was wholly clothed at last and sitting on his bed waiting for his sister who was supposed to give him a ride home.

"Those ridiculously romantic queens can keep their delusions, I couldn't care less," Brian snorted. "I think that if I was in love with something in my rela- no, 'relationship' is too great a word for what I had with Justin. I don't know what to call it, the thing we had. Well, I think that I found it gratifying to have a person in my life who actually wanted me, the man behind this face, behind my reputation, and behind the things I own. For some time, Justin gave that feeling to me. I felt like he saw me, and my looks or wealth seemed to mean very little to him. When we first met, Justin was young enough to believe in the ideal of finding what is precious from inside of a person instead of one's facade. His upbringing in a wealthy home also had an impact on him. He took my wealth as granted, and because of that it had no effect on him. As he grew up and was forced to face the reality behind his bright ideals he changed, though. Increasingly, I felt that I was a trophy for him and his safety net below the trapeze of his adult life. My reactions to such feelings were not very admirable, I admit it. I hated him at times, and wanted him to hurt like he hurt me."

"So you were hurt when he left you for that other man, at the Rage party?" Sunny had considerable difficulties in combining his previous thoughts about the most famous man on Liberty Avenue with the words of the man himself that he was hearing.

"Actually, no. He had already hurt me with his affair with the fiddler because he thought to keep him at the side and, at the same time, to have me, too. When I accused him, he didn't confess, and when he was busted by my friend he still didn't admit that he was having an affair. With that he hurt my pride much worse than my feelings for him. I did want him to leave, but I wanted to wound his pride in the process; that's why I wanted our break up to happen at that party." Brian did not try to sugar-coat his actions, nor seemed he to be proud of them.

"Your side of the story is intriguingly different from what commonly is held as the truth by the dwellers of Liberty Avenue. But your plan backfired, didn't it? Justin left you, and people blamed you for it. He was not humiliated like you seem to have wanted." What Sunny was hearing opened a new point of view to the most debated affair of the recent years in gay Pittsburgh. What did an outsider know? Very little, Sunny was beginning to see.

"It was not a show for the public; I couldn't care less about what people think about me. It wasn't my intent to humiliate Justin in public; our fight was a private one. He took offence at what I did because he had thought that it was his night, his victory. He thought that the party was my apology and my attempt of making amends because of our fights over my supposedly false accusations of 

him cheating on me. He thought that he had succeeded in fooling me. What I did, showed him the error in his thoughts. He didn't like that and took off with the fiddler, just as I knew he would."

"So, you won?" Sunny had a sudden insight: "It was a game you two were playing, a power game."

"You're right. What began as me tutoring Justin into manhood had turned into a power game. I didn't admit it to myself until I found out about the fiddler. Justin, in fact, became increasingly demanding after the bashing, and I thought that his demands were a symptom of his PTSD. At first, when he came to live with me, I let him have his way in many of the everyday issues of my loft. Later on, he started to demand control over my life and person, too, and that was too much. If I agreed to his one demand - and at the beginning I agreed to some of his demands to keep the boy calm - the second was never far behind, and the new demand was always more difficult to agree to than the previous one. Justin was well aware of my aversion to empty sentimentality, but he was constantly demanding just that from me. The fiddler was one more such demand of his. If I wasn't willing to start a monogamous relationship because of him he would find someone who was. In addition to his demands of romance, he started to demand that I take him with me when I went out tricking. Whatever I did he wanted to do it, too. It seemed that I couldn't get rid of him for even one night in a week. Often I was mad enough at him to take him to places and situations he was not ready for, but if the little shit insisted… I'm not proud of that, but it's done, and it's no use to deny the shit that's already in one's pants. It seemed to me that Justin was trying to prove himself of being a power worth taking seriously. Possibly PTSD was a factor that had an effect on his behavior, but if it was, Justin had no intention of dealing with it. He was completely content with his newly found sense of power over me." Words poured out of Brian like he finally had opened floodgates that had for a long time held his words inside. He wanted to stop the flow, but he could not.

"That doesn't sound like love to me, but there had to be something about him that you did find endearing. Otherwise you wouldn't have let him live with you in the first place."

"Before the bashing Justin was a bundle of attitude and brazen boldness. He made me laugh, and there weren't many things that made me laugh back then. Before the bashing Justin was also the most unselfish person I knew, but after the event he didn't have much room in his life for the needs of other people. Even his seemingly selfless acts have egocentric flavor to them. After the bashing Justin's attitudes got bitter undertones, and his boldness turned into a rage. Justin feels that the world is in debt to him, for the injustice of the bashing. He feels that other people should pay off that debt by granting him his wishes, whatever they are. When people aren't cooperative he may slip into a rage he is barely capable of controlling. After the bashing, during our time together, Justin never learned to control that unwarranted attitude." Brian's voice had gotten a sad undertone. "I wasn't much of a help for Justin. My own attitudes have at least as bitter undertones as Justin's, and I myself have trouble in controlling my temper. My reasons and triggers are different, but they are equally uncomfortable for the people close to me."

"Yours and Justin's story didn't end at the Rage party, though. What made you decide to let him back? From what you have told I would assume a different outcome." Poor Sunny did not know what to think about the facts he heard.

"The Rage party settled our game for some time. Justin left because he knew that I wasn't going to let him stay, but he also knew that by accepting his loss he could get a chance to reclaim his position in my life. He knew me well enough to know that I admire a guy with the balls to go after what he wants. That avenue back was open for him if he could find his way to it. And he did. It was a tricky road to travel, but he made it. He promised to accept me as I was; no more fiddle music in 

my loft. I took him back, and for a few months we were content, if not happy. But, of course it didn't last. I might as well tell you the rest; you know so much already." Brian looked at Sunny from the corner of his eye. "The first slip back into his demanding ways came in the form of 'Pink Posse', a vigilante group he became a member of. He supposed that I would deny that idiocy from him and that by that means he could get into a power struggle with me. I didn't want to play by his rules, and so I refused to talk about the posse at all. Until he brought a gun to the loft, I could keep my opinions to myself, but that was too much for me. I couldn't help trying to make him listen to me and give up the gun. It didn't work, but, fortunately, soon after that he himself understood that he was going too far and left the posse. But by that time he was playing the game again. I don't know why he needed to have control over me, but his continuous attempts to achieve the control turned our life into a hell for me. For example, Justin was offered a job from LA for a few months, and the little shit accepted the offer without even telling me about it. I know that he wanted me to get mad and to demand that he stay in Pittsburgh. That would have given him some ammunition for the power struggle, but I let him go. During his stay at LA he kept giving hints that he wouldn't come back. It was supposed to force me to demand that he choose between me and his job. I didn't fall into that trap either, and finally he was forced to come back, when his job ended. It wasn't the most happy reunion of my life. After that he returned to his demand of monogamy, and when I didn't submit to his will, he once again left me." Brian stopped his story, visibly shaken by the intensity of the recollection of the events of Justin's last few months in his life.

"And he left for New York, right?" Sunny remembered having heard that the blond had left the town.

"Not that time. That particular breakup happened before the bombing of Babylon, and he stayed in Pittsburgh. You see, it wasn't his intention to let go of me. The separation was intended to force me into a marriage. I resisted firmly, until the bombing. In the aftermath, after having worried myself sick for him and for my whole family of friends, too, I found him without so much as a scratch. The situation brought to the surface feelings that I hadn't felt since Justin's bashing. I was euphoric with relief because of his survival and, at the same time, anxious to know if my friends had survived, too, and if they were injured. The confusion of feelings didn't leave me for several days, and at the end of those days I finally proposed to Justin. To my surprise he did not accept my proposal. His reason was that I was feeling the residual effects of the bombing. It was a cold shower that brought me back to reality. Nothing had changed, the game was still on. You see, it was not me agreeing to his demands; it was me doing the decision for my own reasons. That's when I decided to raise his bet. I invested my profits from the previous quarter into a manor in West Virginia. Whether the life of my little wife really was what Justin wanted or not would no longer be just his secret. I took the boy to the manor and proposed to him again. He accepted, after a considerable hesitation, but with the glee of the victor. For a while he seemed to enjoy his victory, but then, just a couple of days before our intended wedding, he understood the trap he had stepped into. I had been pretty sure that Justin did not want to live the life of a mistress of a country manor, apart from the beat of life, apart from the art world, without a life of his own. Justin had no degree from any school, he had no experience to qualify him for any job, and he knew that I wouldn't fund his career as an aspiring artist. He also knew that I wouldn't allow my husband to work in a diner bussing tables. As my husband, Justin would've been forced into the role of a trophy wife. Justin took the only way out of his predicament, the only way that allowed him the shreds of his pride. He said to me that he couldn't make me go through with the thing that would render me unrecognizable, the very thing he had tried to achieve for about four years. Our game was finally at the end, and he knew that this time there were no avenues back into my life open for him. Justin left for New York in hopes of getting his career as an artist started. I hope that he'll find what he is looking for, or at least understand what it is he is looking for." Brian fell silent, his eyes directed to his tightly clenched fists.

"Brian, it seems to me that there was very little of love between you and Justin. I don't know what to call it, but I do know that what you and Justin shared was not love. I've love in my life, several loves, and believe me, love is nothing like what you have experienced with Justin." Sunny could hardly believe the harsh reality of the celebrated love of the royal couple of Liberty Avenue.

"Justin confessed his endless love for me on every occasion he could, but the words never filled me with any feeling remotely like what I thought I should be feeling. And what I felt when I saw him did not fill me with anything like that feeling either. As long as our whatever lasted, I thought that it was some lack in me, but after he left I began to come to a different conclusion. I didn't feel those feelings because I wasn't in love with Justin." Brian squared his shoulders and sat more erect. "Enough about my unfortunate dealings with Justin. You said you have love in your life, a love interest? Confess, chicken boy!"

"Shut up, pool boy." Sunny scored with that one, and Brian accepted his loss with a brief wrinkling of his nose. "Yes, I have a love interest in my life. Unfortunately there is nothing to confess; my beloved doesn't care about me. He only cares about hot young twinks-" At that point a pillow sailed through the air with deadly aim. It landed right on Sunny's tragic face.

"Be real! Who would choose a twink over you?"

That warranted a pillow throw from Sunny at Brian, who, politely, returned Sunny's ammunition, only with considerable speed. Sunny's sister made the mistake of arriving at the thick of the pillow fight. She gathered her childish brother and left with that comment that every woman in the world seems to know to say in a situation like that. "Men!"


End file.
